


take my breath away

by behzaintfunny



Category: The Favourite (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ballroom Dancing, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Historical Inaccuracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behzaintfunny/pseuds/behzaintfunny
Summary: Queen Anne takes a diplomatic trip to Paris, to negotiate terms of a treaty with the king of France and celebrate the newly-established allyship. Sarah, after being forced into exile, settles in the French court. They meet again in the beautiful Versailles, hurt and changed, but perhaps some things have never changed, no matter the time.
Relationships: Sarah Churchill Duchess of Marlborough/Anne Stuart Queen of the United Kingdom
Kudos: 24





	take my breath away

In the fair Versailles, where only trechery doth dwell, an English queen walks out from her carriage.

Loud are the whispers behind her back, and tough it is to find words of support to whatever it is she does. Still, it is Anne Boleyn of Great Britain that appeased the French king enough to work out a truce, not the hundred kings before her.

She takes pride in that, if only slightly.

She was neither happy not sated upon hearing the invitation to Paris, for it was not in her best interest whatsoever to travel in her condition. Nonetheless, she sealed her letter back off with a strained smile on her face and a determination to make the best of it.

If anything, Versailles truly proved to be something to behold. If only a little, the beautiful palace made her forget about the hardships of the journey she had to endure.

Anne readjusts the skirts around her as the walks out of the feeble carriage. Her ladies flutter around her like hens, ever loyal like hounds, and she feels oddly confined in their presence. She regards them with what she could only presume was a frown, and they compose themselves to her liking.

When they offer her a glass of red wine, she accepts it without hesitation.

She couldn't deny the castle its beauty even if she tried. Though the commotion was hardly the thing of dreams, for she never did care much for parties, there was a certain beauty to it. The halls of Versailles, filled with all sorts of finest people, the cherry of France, and yet there is only one person she sees in the busy ballroom. Not the king, not the aristocracy, not all the right bastards surrounding her.

Her first love.

The feeble diamond belt wrapped around her waist, portraying her physique in the finest way possible, was not nearly the most beautiful garment on her body. No, she wore a gorgeous necklace that contrasted beautifully with her silky smooth neck. It was made of the bluest gemstones she had ever seen, some sort of lapis, perhaps, or even finer still.

In a room with hundreds of aristocrats in their most outrageously expensive clothing, Sarah, former Duchess of Marlborough, was the only one that successfully caught her eye. Perhaps, in a sky of a million stars, she would have been the only one Anne could ever notice.

Anne was stunned to see her like this, as though time had never even touched her.

Sarah was still as fair as she was on her wedding day all those years ago, if not even more beautiful for the fine creation she adorned. Her hair was luscious and long, raven curls falling all the way down her back, and it moved with her while she danced. It has been long since Anne had seen her dance, for it had always pained her to see her in an embrace of another.

Nonetheless, she could not deny the obvious.

Anne had thought the feelings were long gone. She had more important matters to tend to than simple troubles of the heart, and Sarah was a convicted traitor. She would never regain the Queen's trust, in this life or another.

That's what she had thought thus far. Tonight, in the beautiful Versailles, her heart longed most not for what is right, but for what it truly needed.

Her hands on her skin, the subtle tint of her perfume tingling the insides of her nostrils, her lips on her nape. She wanted Sarah, most of all, and so she had to have her back.

After all, who would dare deny the Queen's most urgent wishes?

Anne swallows the the last of her red wine down her throat anxiously, fingers twitching. Sarah knows she is here, without a doubt, since it would have been hard to have missed the arrival of the Queen, but she did not act so. She hadn't so much as looked her way once, and though she wouldn't admit it, it pained Anne to think that perhaps Sarah had simply forgotten. That perhaps she had found a new life here, a better one, and did not need to trouble herself with a weak queen like she always had before.

The thought was much unpleasant. Anne never did like to dwell on those.

"I wish to dance," she tells her ladies of court, fighting to miss the not-so-subtle tinge of surprise that befalls on their faces, "Find me a suitable partner, and do it quick."

They bow and mutter their pleasantries, and, much to Anne's disliking, she feels a new sense of anxiety overcome her. Sarah would surely see her dance in the crowd among her, but what would she think of her once she does? Would she think her a fool, a Queen with no rhythm nor grace to her name? God forbid, would she laugh?

She spares one last stare at the blue dress that twirls and moves so prettily before the violinist begins to play a calmer song, and the Sun King raises from his throne to regard the crowd.

"Monssieurs et madames, may I present Anne Stuart, Queen of Great Britain," the King says, notioning for her to come forth and take his hand, "Our ally."

The ladies and gentlemen of the court stop their dance to applaud her, as the takes the Sun King's hand in hers. It is covered with golden rings, as beautiful as expected of him.

Deep inside, she knows the allyship of Britain and France is but a mere dream. She is no fool to think otherwise. Still, it is often most enjoyable to try to live a dream, however feeble and surreal it might be.

"Might you allow me the pleasure of having this dance, majesté?" King Louis asks her, all feigned pleasantries she is more than used to by now.

She regards the crowd again in hopes of finding the blue dress, but fails in her attempt. Still, she forces her most kind smile before speaking, "It would be my honour."

Somehow, in his presence, Anne felt less self-conscious than she normally did. Her black dress embroidered with shimmering string did not nearly compare to Sarah's garment, but it had always been a fool's errand to compare oneself to Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, perfection embodied.

She attempted to lose herself in the flurry of dancing, though her joints ached so whilist she moved around much more than usually and with more fervor, and she did it with pride. Neither she nor the Sun King were perfect dancers, and they had both seen a few too many springs come and go to feel like youthful teenagers in the ballroom, but the dance was sufficient. They were both doing what was expected of them, and it did not hurt to take some pleasure from it.

She never did care much for music.

In truth, she had never understood its appeal, but found it rather annoying to the ear. Still, Anne couldn't deny the violinist's talent, and the rest of the orchestra did good enough to do him justice. She started to twirl and jump in the French king's arms, lost in the simple pleasure of letting go just a bit more than usual, as the people around them begun their own dance.

She was ready to give up soon, dissatisfied with the dance as much as the music, as the King let go of her hand after one peculiar spin, only to take another lady's hand in dance. She was baffled, if only for a moment, as panic rose deep in her chest. She had expected some lord to ask her to continue the dance, and when it didn't happen, she could feel her eyes swelling with unshed tears.

Then, the soft hand on the low of her arm, and nails that held her tightly but not as tightly as to draw pain. Anne turned around in a frenzy, confused and highly uncomfortable, only to see a most familiar face that adorned a gentle smile.

"Shall we, then?"

A blue dress, shimmering in the dimly lit ballroom, and, more importantly, the woman underneath.

In that moment, she would have gladly crowned Sarah the Queen of Britain herself. For now, a hurried nod had to do. Sarah smiled at her, all courteous yet for vastly different reasons than everyone around them. Anne reaches to take Sarah's hand in hers, and allows her to take the lead.

The dance feels a lot different than it did before, much more intimate as accompanied by the soft humming of the violin. One of Sarah's hands moves to capture around her waist, hesitant and gentle, as though she were afraid to scare Anne off.

They lose themselves in the flurry of dance as much as in each other's eyes, exploring the other with curiosity and longing alike.

Suddenly, it is as though there is no one in the ballroom but them, as if the ballroom itself is the entire world and they are the last two people alive. As much as it is a surprise to find Sarah in the French court, it is an oddly welcome one. Anne holds her in her arms and feels a long-forgotten sense of safety, something Abigail Hill never gave her, and the one thing she had missed most.

In Sarah's arms, the world was so very simple.

Despite living in beauty and prosperity, Anne had always found most beauty in simplicity. Despite the undeniable beauty of Sarah's rich blue dress and all the gemstones that adorn her body, it is her face that Anne finds most endearing.

If this indeed is love, then let it be so. If she has to endure betrayal of trust, vast changes in feelings and much painful time spent apart, then let it be so.

"Come with me, Sarah." she speaks softly, momentarily afraid that Sarah couldn't hear her amidst the music, "Take me to the garden."

There is an unspoken plea in her voice that Sarah has to have picked up on, and yet she nods gently and leads the way out into the gorgeous gardens of Versailles.

At some point, Sarah allows Anne to hold onto her arm for balance, without ever having to ask. Anne smiles fondly as they walk past a bush of roses, and into the night.

"So curious to meet you in Paris," Sarah says conversionally, flippant as always, though she smiles when she speaks, "I never thought I would see you again."

Anne looks up at Sarah before asking, "Are you disappointed?"

"No, not at all!" she says hurriedly, "I respected your wishes, as was expected of me, and never returned to England, however much my heart longed to see its lands and valleys again. I had a life here in France. It was... not entirely time wasted."

"I'm sorry for making you leave. I never should have. It's..." Anne sighs, gaze avoiding Sarah's own, "Much has changed since then, and yet, much has remained the same."

"You appear to have been doing well enough without my counsel. The way you handled the war... It really is admirable." Sarah picks a stray red rose from the nearby bush, twisting it in her hand forlornly before giving it to Anne, "I wish I had never doubted you. Clearly, it was entirely uncalled for."

Anne holds the rose weakly in her hand, watching the petals as they envelop the flower beautifully. She looks at Sarah then, only to see a gentle smile befall her face. Sarah never did smile much during their time together back home, in England.

Perhaps it really was not time entirely wasted, after all.

"Do you frequent Versailles often?" she asks instead, when it becomes apparent the blush on her face was not to leave any time soon. She twists the rose in her hand, mimicking Sarah's gesture.

"Unfortunately, I must say I do. What a woeful place." Sarah chuckles, strenghtening her hold on Anne's arm barely so slightly, "I have to say the French are an awfully pompous people. I cannot have been this bad in England, can I? I'm slowly turning into one of their own, snobs lying more often than not, simply to appease a crowd."

Anne watches the starlit sky, for she cannot stand Sarah's constant gaze on her. She feels much too small underneath it, not as a Queen should, but as a young, impressionable girl.

Just like when Sarah first got to knew her and love her.

"Should I begin to doubt your honesty?" Anne asks quietly, her voice lacking the usual snap it is so renowned for.

It causes a laugh to fall from Sarah's lips, beautiful and bashful, highly inappopriate for great halls and gardens like such.

"Never." Sarah replies confidently, the tips of her fingers daringly brushing the top of Anne's wrist, "Never again, dearest."

In that moment, in the dead of the night, Anne finds she believes her words wholeheartedly. There is no thought of treason or wrongdoing in her mind when she closes the distance between them, wholly foolishly, and her lips meet Sarah's.

Sarah tastes like the bitterness of coffee and the sweetness of a most ripe tangerine - like the wonders of first love and the hardships of betrayal. When she reciprocates the kiss, Anne feels butterflies in the hollow of her stomach, as though she were seventeen again and she had just fallen in love with the cynical brunette.

On the other side of the gardens, a firework show begins.

The noise startles Anne, so much so that she jolts away from Sarah's gentle embrace. It isn't long before Sarah's fingers are cupping her face, letting her back into her arms without so much as a question.

In the corners of their eyes, they watch the beautiful firework show, though Anne knows it can compare naught to the beauty in her very arms. It is Sarah that kisses her then, and neither of them care much for any aristocrat that should attempt to find them. Anne revels in her every breath, closing her eyes on the colorful sky and opening her mind to something she had fought her hardest to forget.

Love.

They don't speak again that night, though she has thousands of things she would like to tell Sarah still after all these years. The air smells like ash and soot, like roses, and Sarah's most fine perfume. Anne lets herself be vulnerable like never otherwise, for she sees in Sarah's eyes the same adoration she feels flurrying inside her chest.  
  
She'd know her blind, she'd know her in the afterlife and even yet beyond. The celebrations in the castle are the last thing on her mind now, even though Anne fought hard for this allyship, something no kings or queens before her have managed to achieve.

She thinks, she'd let all of that go to waste if only to spend the rest of the night like this - dazed, happy, and in love.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic. It was originally a much more sophisticated idea, but I'm at this stage with it that I know nothing more will come of it - so, here it is. Hope you enjoyed your favourite eighteenth century lesbians reuniting.
> 
> ...Also, if you liked the fic, consider commenting! The probability of it making my day is a 100%.


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